corn

I am not a farmer and

the corn has nothing to do with me

but I like to watch it come up

as if by watching I could slow it down, still the moment, and make it mine.

I like to see the liquid black manure coating the fields and then

the couple of little leaves just an inch or two above the ground.

Then faster than possible a foot tall,

then two feet,

then over my head and rustling in the wind,

then tassels.

All summer long I watch its progress.

But it has nothing to do with me.

I dreamed I missed it this year.  That it had sprung up and been harvested before I’d had a chance to watch it.